Therapy

"I just wanna let it go for tonight.That would be the best therapy for me."
(Italics are Quoted from the song by Kid Cudi, Memories.)

as i rode through the city, i knew all the best ways to go... the cracks and bumps in the sidewalk, the driveways i could sneak a quite swoosh through... the curbs so i lift the lip of my board in time... i'd cruise and i'd gotten it down so that the board was not separate from me. it was me.

those nights i felt like a deliciously dark loner. dressed in dark colors, i explored the streets. i knew all the work of the taggers and the graffiti artists. i may not have know them personally as individuals, but i knew their work. i admired it. that "****-you" mentality-- the sheer will to share their art... the rush that an artist must get as they race away from fresh paint.

what i did was wholesome. i just wanted to be left alone to admire; appreciate the continuity as i scoped out traffic sign, dumpster and lamppost. they each had a story to tell.

i never liked white walls. i just always thought they seemed dull. boring. lackluster. god, i'm yawning thinking about a white wall. Oh, but graffiti brings life and energy. it has something to say.

As I pushed along admired the punctuated landscape, i dreamt. ...and those nights i would climb the stairs with my board in hand under my arm. i never felt my body ache because i was on a cloud...excited about what i might find, at the same time, scared that what i was doing out ther alone may not be safe.

I was determined; fiercly, stubbornly, one-track minded. I was not going back to those thoughts--- so i ran those nights. i skated and pushed hard to get away in time from the Gray feeling so that it wouldn't overtake me in my rest.

Reaching the top of the stars, the empty parking rooftop seemed like an infinite sea of smooth ride. I mean, just to bust out there, laying my board down and hopping on mid-roll-- thinking about what stunt i was gonna try... cross-overs-- slides... what could i master? so many possibilities and the enjoyment of watching my feet, the ground--- feeling the air rush past... i wondered how fast i was going-- watch out for the wall-- hop off and run to catch my board.

After awhile, I'd get a little tired. Time to sit down... just finding that perch over the city-- below there were a couple clubs where i watched the drunks fall over. it's a little funny. admit it. so, i'd sit giggling... then at once i'd look around to be sure i was alone... then i dreamt of what my pen would create... fantasizing about who would see my art someday...then

people walking towards me-- like that, i grab my propped-up board from the wall and i'm gone, tired and on my way home; hungry and wanting a shower. a strange contentedness taking over. for once i was far enough ahead of the gray that it did not exist. This was relief. Then I would stream stand-up and be happy.

It's gettin' late but I don't mind...It's gettin' late but I don't mind.

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